Posts Tagged ‘conversations’

My kids listen to everything. ‘What are you talking about?’ is a question anyone who has hung out with us will have heard.

And Tuesday morning I heard it, ‘What are you talking about, Mama?’

So I said it. ‘There was a bomb in a city called Boston. Some people got hurt when it exploded.’

Silence.

‘What?’

‘Some bad people exploded a bomb, and it hurt other people. They had to go to the hospital for help.’

‘And the police came? To help?’

‘Yes.’

And off he scampered to play.

I’ve seen lots of posts about how to talk to your kids about tragedy. Surely we should talk to the the way we talk to them about anything – honestly, age appropriately, with clear language. Answer their questions. Don’t add anything unnecessary or confusing if it is a difficult topic and your child is very young, but don’t assume that because they are very young they cannot understand or empathise.

He climbs on the bed and layers three pillows, placing the baby on the far side.

Snort: Snort help! Pull baby. Pull!

He reaches up into the pillow vagina and carefully guides the baby out.

He clasps her to his chest, face shining.

Snort: Baby cold. Wrap up baby.

He wraps his muslin around the doll and cuddles her.

Snort: Baby out! Hard. Pull! Wrap up. Baby happy.

——-

Our friend Aussie is currently pregnant, and we talk often about their planned visit. Coconut says she wants to help with the new baby. Even prior to these discussions, both kids often talk about a baby in my tummy and wanting a baby in the family.

A far cry from TMD, who at age two apparently refused to talk or interact with her mother for months because she brought home a little brother!

While Snort’s midwifery was strangely interventionist (!), I think the kid is determined to get a baby here No Matter What and As Quickly As Possible!

People in Country B spend a lot of time lying to people. But it’s classy lying, done in fun. For instance, TMD once told CurlyGirl that there were no elevators in Country B. These lie-stories are told for sport. Before I got wise to the fact that the rest of my life would be spent being made a fool of by my wife (or, indeed, learning to make a fool out of her – remind me to tell you about the soapnuts), she told me that ‘knock on wood’ was originally ‘touch the tooth.’ You know, that people had rotten teeth replaced by wooden pegs, and would touch them for luck.

Me’ feels she has to share her disturbing feelings about a certain movie and get some reassurance.

Me: I’m just thinking about that scene in Titanic with the Irish lady and the…

TMD: What? What scene?

Me: You know, in the movie Titanic, the mum knows she’s not going to get her or her kids out from below deck, so she..

TMD: I am just thinking about that Irish lady we saw at the park today.

Me: Yeah, well, anyway – the Irish lady sees she’s not going to get her boy and her girl out, and so she takes them back into their room, tucks them into bed, and tells them a lovely story. But she knows they are all about to die.

TMD: Starts crying.

Me: What? What are you….are you okay?

TMD: Still crying. Why would you tell me that? That’s a horrible thing to tell someone.

Me: Thinking, I know, that’s why I told you. I wanted to say that wouldn’t it be awful to pass your baby through the gate and never know if they’ll survive, but you know you’ll die….but they probably will survive and that’s all that matters. Um, I just thought you would know that scene. I’m sorry.

TMD: I am hot, and tired, and emotional. I did not know that scene; I’ve seen the movie only one time. That is a horrible thing. Begins to cry again. I don’t know why you would tell me that. Grabs a baby from me and throws them in the bathtub, grabs the other kid and says, Your mama just told me a horrible story.

Me: …..Feels a terrible urge to laugh, even while still worrying about the boat going down scenario and the chance to save your child. Or the even worse one of knowing you’re all about to die, but trying to stay calm and make your children feel safe, loved, and happy.

TMD: Bathes children.

Me: Writes blog entry.

TMD: (in bathroom) I just love you guys. Starts crying again. I love you so much. You are the best babies ever, and I love you more than anything.

Me: Feels distinctly uncomfortable about writing about this, and clicks ‘save to drafts.’

——-

10 minutes later

TMD: You made me feel really uncomfortable with that story you told me.